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PRESENTED BY . 



THE 



Roman Martyrs 



A TRAGEDY 



Henry Codman 



« 



the 



Eoman Martyrs 



A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS. 



HENRY CODMAN. 



moVlDENCE: 

S I D N E V 8 . I ; II > I I ; . 
1879. 






1} & 






GUt 

Miss M. C. Codman 

Marcla 1914 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



MEN. 

Maxextius. An old Patrician; rich, and a Christian. 

Livius, son of Max. Also a Christian; a young Roman 
officer. 

Dkasus. A gay young Roman noble, a Pagan until the closing 
part of the play. 

Valerius. A General of the Army, a Pagan, a Patrician, and 
betrothed to Paulina. 

Pollio. High Priest of Jupiter; a favorite of Nero. 

Froxto. An Assistant Priest of Jupiter. 

Four male servants of Max. 

Steward of Art. 

Two Jailers. 

Other priests and soothsayers. 

Praefect of Rome and a troop of soldiers, etc , etc. 

WOMEN. 

Paulina. Only daughter of Max. Young, lovely, and a 
Christian. 

Axtoxia. Step-mother of Max. An old Roman lady — a 
bigoted Pagan. 

Medoka. A young Greek girl — a Pagan ; maid to Paulina. 



PROVIDENCE ri'.ESS COMPANY, PRINTERS. 



ROMAN MARTYRS. 



ACT I.— Scene 1st. 

[Interior of the Temple of Jupiter— Pollio kneeling at the Altar. Time, early 
morning. Pollio rises, comes forward and speaks.] 

Pol. None here ! — deserted is the Temple 
now! Time was, I well remember, e'en at this 
early hour these courts were thronged by 
adoring crowds ! And, now — now forsooth, 
so few do come, that the early morning sacrifice 
to a later hour's delayed ! Shades of my fathers ! 
'tis too much! But too well I trace the cause! 
This vile Nazarine faith ! Methinks that fearful 
headway now 'tis making ! Gods of Olympus ! 
from thy thrones look down! Call back all 
wandering hearts ! thy pristine glory now re- 
vive ! Thunderer ! great Jove ! may my prayers 
ascend to thee ! 

(Turns away and kneels at the altar.) 

Hail ! great King of Gods and men ! deign 



6 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

list thy servant's prayer ! From thine ivory 
throne bend to hear my cry! Is't Thy will, oh 
mighty one, thy rites forsaken now shall be \ 
Disperse the darkness, that as 'twere Night's 
curtain, hangs around thy will ! — To us the 
faithful remnant, who, to our ancient creed 
allegiance still do vow, in pity to our wilder'd 
minds, and sadly anxious hearts, kind intimation 
give of what shall now be done, far from Rome's 
walls to drive this foul taint of heresy ! Father ! 
hear! blast us not with Thy frown! But oh 
hear! hear! and answer. 

(Rises and walks down the centre; is met near the entrance 
by another and younger priest.) 

Pol. Ah, Fronto ! dost seek me? 

Fron. My lord, the hour for sacrifice draws 
near. 

Pol. I know it and shameful 'tis that 
still we have to wait the lingering steps of those 
who in untold multitudes these courts should 
tread — at yon altar kneel ! 

Fron. My lord, they come — a larger band 
than here have gathered for many a day ; the 
court are entering now ! And foremost presses 



A TRAGEDY. 



one, whose well-known form ne'er long is absent 
from our holy rites ! — the noble Antonia ! 

Pol. Ha ! we doubt it not — yet ever faith- 
ful is she found ! I go to seek her — let the 
rites await my return ! — where is she, did'st 
thou say % 

Fron. My lord, she comes. 

(Enter Antonia.) 

Pol. (To Fron.) Leave us! 

(Exit Fron.) 

Daughter! the blessing of the gods, be on 
thee — Ay ! both now and ever ! 

Ant. And on thee, my lord ! 

Pol. Lady ! methinks thy voice has slower 
grown, — thine eye lost its wonted fire! We 
trust thou hast not sicken'd ! 

Ant. Honored man, fear not for me ! Still 
am I well — but my heart has saddend grown. 
Alas ! on evil days I deem Home 's lighted 



now 



Pol. Indeed, thou well may'st say it ! They 
are dark and evil days — would all, like thee, 
were true ! (A pause.) 'Mongst the crowd thou 
hast left, did thine eye note certain akin to thee 1 



8 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Ant. None! what means my lord? 

Pol. I grieve to hear it ! a fortnight's time 
has passed, since here in prayer I've seen thy 
noble son, Maxentius ! 

Ant. Ha ! 

Pol. Nay! I pray thee be not chafed — ill 
may he not be ? 

Ant. No ! I would he were ! — he's well. 
Last eve I saw him ! Olympian gods ! I dread 
to see a cloud arise ! from thy daughters head 
avert disgrace ! (A pause.) Ant. to Pol. 
Thou'st sure, my noble lord, that within this 
shrine, in the time thou say'st, Maxentius has 
not been 1 

Pol. Too sure — I know it! and (looking 
steadily on her) I must tell thee all — what's 
more, his children neither ! 

Ant. Can it be? — but I recall now — 'tis 
only three days, my lord, since young Livius, 
from the bands in Gaul returned — 

Pol. Ah ! it may be — but the others ! can'st 
account for them ? 

Ant. Oh that I could ! This fearful mystery 
shall be looked into, rest thou sure ! 



A TRAGEDY. V 

Pol. Well, thou wilt do thy part ! Antonia, 
I doubt thee not ! 

Ant. (Proudly.) Praise to the gods ! thou 
can'st not ! — thou hast no cause ! Thou never 
will ! 

Pol. Admirable woman ! 

Ant. Call me not thus ! But fitting 'tis I 
should do all I can, as should the high-born 
matronage of seven-hill'd Rome, to stem the tide 
of irreligion, in some — and worse, a thousand- 
fold, in others, the devotion to this later creed — 
the Nazarene, that, as a flood, sweeps o'er our 
far-extended empire! curse it! down with it! 
The gods of Latium are enough for me ! I seek 
for — I wish to know — no others ! 

Pol. Oh did all resemble thee, lady, Rome 
ne'er had seen this day ! 

Ant. Pollio ! the honor of the gods, to 
thee 's committed ! and wilt thou fail them in 
this lowering day ? Prove thou art what men 
call thee! Show thyself not in vain Nero's 
favorite ! Rouse thyself to deeds, not words 
alone ! Down with the Nazarenes ! Bare thy 
sinewy arm, and fight for the gods of Rome ! 



10 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Ay ! fight on ! till thy last sigh 's heaved — thy 
latest blood-drop yielded up ! Pollio ! I pray 
thee list my words ! I tell thee did I but know 
the Immortals wished for sacrifice, this heart 
(she strikes her heart) with untrembling hand, 
from my breast I'd tear it, and, bleeding, cast it 
on their altars ! I would, and gladly ! 

Pol. (Aside.) Is she a woman? 'the spirit of 
the Furys breathes in her ev 'ry word ! 

Ant. Priest of Jupiter, why stand we thus 
loitering here ? On thy holy duties I should 
no more intrude. I leave thee, at Juno's shrine 
to kneel ! (Exit.) 

Pol. Lady, farewell — so ! she's gone ! 
What was 't she said ? — " deeds " ? I will do 
them — his "favorite"! — and "not in vain"! 
Ay ! I know I am his favorite — would I were 
something more ! 'tis not enou' to rule the mas- 
ter of the world ! Methinks this head's bet- 
ter fitted to wear his crown, than this paltry 
golden vitta. Ambition ! thou 'rt my god ! (His 
eye rests on a statue of Jupiter in the distance.) 
Cold marble ! more of faith I should place on 
him thou dost represent, if my heart's unutter'd 



A TRAGEDY. 1 1 

prayer should e'er come true ! who knows \ 
Sway I have o'er many a bosom within our city's 
walls — and the royal purse I hold! The time 
may come! (Exit slowly and proudly.) 



Scene Second. 



[A room in the palace of Maxentius ; he is alone, and slowly pacing the floor. 
He Bpeaks.] 

Max. Yes ! I do see it should and must be 
done! Theophilus is right — in this, at least. 
Such near connection — the closest that can be — 
indeed I feel should ne'er exist 'tween a Chris- 
tian maiden, and one who incense burns, and 
vows blasphemous pays to "Rome's thousand 
Idols ! And if 't should also prove, Theophilus' 
conjecture true, that him she does not love, her 
gentle heart full many a pang 'twill spare, the 
contract to annul ! I have mistrust, as now on 
it I think, that here also, the good father's 
rightly judged. (Seats himself.) For recall I 



12 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

cannot, once the time I've seen upon her cheek 
imprinted, Nature's own sign of girlhood's bash- 
fulness and timid preference, as at her side he's 
stood ! But ere to him I write, her I must see. 
Unwonted work for me — her heart's depths to 
probe ! With gentlest hand let me endeavor her 
secret mind to know ! Claps his hand. {Enter a 
slave.) Deodatus ! pray thee, thy young mis- 
tress hither call. With her I'd speak. [Exit 
slave.) Alas! Claudia, wert thou living, this 
work should be thy suiting task. She died in 
her young beauty's prime — and me, heart- wea- 
ried left ! — to rear — ah ! for the giddy round 
of folly, and the word she thought, the sole sur- 
viving two, Death's hand to us had spared. Why 
— why from me was she reft, ere the Truth to 
her was known 1 parted and forever ! Oh woe 
untold, and not to be expressed. Eternal ! 
grant me strength, this weight of woe to bear ! 
(Clasps his hands, and bows his head upon them.) 

(Pauline enters and stauds in the doorway.) 

Pau. (Aside.) In prayer] to heaven is his 
pure heart lifted I or sad is he % Perchance of 
his children's changing fortunes, he sadly thinks. 



A TRAGEDY. 



13 



Discovery ! well I know it soon must come ! 
From it I will not shrink ! It can but end in 
death ! — and then — oh ! then, all will be peace 
— this heart's tortures will be o'er ! But let me 
share his every grief, while still I can! (Crosses 
the room and kneels to her father.) Dear father, 
art thou sad? Let me cheer thee! shall I sing 
to thee ; or would'st rather I should read from 
the holy roll Theophilus to thee did give? Alas ! 
to Paulina thou wilt not speak ? Has she then 
lost the power once thou said'st she had, to 
sooth e'en thy saddest hour \ 

Max. (Looking up, and kissing her brow ) 
My child! of thy mother I did think. 

Pau. (Takes his hand.) Still thou mourncst 
her? (Aside.) Oh mighty human Love ! (Aloud.) 
Oh, my parent, canst thou not yet bow an entire 
submitted heart to the Will Supreme, that call'd 
her from thee ? 

.Max. No ! but, my heart's flower, I pray 
thee, mistake me not ! Tis not so much her 
death, agony as 'twas, as the full fraught anguish 
of the thought, that ne'er, not alone on Earth, 
but in the unseen World, shall we meet again ! 



14 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Beloved one ! believe Love's pangs are e'en too 
sweet — while here on Earth we tread — but 
oh ! never ! never may'st thou know the blended 
rapture, and desolation 'tis thy heart's treasures 
forth to pour, on one whom in the Holier 
sphere thou canst not hope to clasp ! 

Patj. (Aside.) Oh heaven! Will he break 
my heart? do I not know it — oh! all too fear- 
fully ! 

Max. My child — daughter — speak to me! 
The dark hour is on me ! with gathering doubts 
and fears, my soul is sore perplexed ! From 
thee, oh comfort of my heart, I fain would hear 
some words of heaven-born trust, and faith ! 
Bethink thee what thou art ! Young deaconess 
of a persecuted faith, thou'st stood at many a 
couch, — and the way thro' the dark valley 
pointed to the brighter, eternal Land ; and joy- 
fully embracing Death, with a smile on pallid 
features, from the way-worn Scenes of Time, 
have thy listeners hence departed ! Speak to 
thy father now. Reprove, exhort, as thou 
would'st one of those children, each noon-tide 
hour around thy knee, thou gatherest, thy teach- 
ings meek to hear. 



A TRAGEDY. 15 

Pau. (Abruptly.) Was not my mother to that 
Claudius sister, who on Baeae's sea-washed coast, 
that temple to Mars did rear, which insecurely 
built, soon fell, and in its ruins crush'd three 
hundred human souls { 

Max. She was. 

Pau. Canst tell — oh ! oft I've heard the 
fearful story ! what did and said he, when to 
him, news of the slaughter, the sad waste of 
life, was brought? 

Max. (Looking clown.) Ah ! why ask me ? 
He jeer'd ! with shocking laughter, through his 
banquet-hall, he roared — and said 'twas well 
they died. The battle-god lov'd blood and death ! 

Pau. He was of the Claudian line. Skern as 
thou know'st, and faithful to their Idol-rites have 
they ever been. Father! it may be, had our 
mother liv'd, her childhood's creed she had not 
forsaken — and then — oh horrid! but of it to 
think ! variance, dissension, might have filled 
thy home ! Perchance one, or both of us, in 
her faith she'd have trained. Better, oh ! better 
far to part — while love, peace, still bound thy 
hearts! But few things of deeper misery, can I 



16 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

conceive, than two to be united, whose faiths, and 
therefore hopes and aims, dissimilar, unsuited are ! 

Max. (Aside.) Thinks she of herself? 
Strange! how aptly lead her words to that for 
which I sent, to talk with her ! (Aloud.) Pau- 
lina ! thou art a Christian. 

Pau. I strive and pray to be one ! 

Max. I know thou dost ! (A pause.) Dear 
one, thou just hast owned that a Christian thou 
dost wish and supplicate to be — and yet ! thou 
art betrothed to a Pagan ! 

Pau. Ah ! 

Max. Paulina, confide, I beg thee, in thy 
sole parent's love — canst thou, wilt thou, after 
what thou hast just said, plight thy hand to him 1 
Sweet daughter, pray thee answer me. Dost 
thou love Valerius \ 

Pau. No ! but as a brother. Nothing more. 
Noon advances — shall I go \ (Looks hurriedly 
around the room.) 

Max. (Sadly.) Paulina ! you wish to leave 
me 1 (Aside.) I do wonder she loves him not. 
A fine person ! distinguished in court and camp ! 
and to her most devoted ! But her heart to us, 



A TRAGEDY. 



17 



and heaven, I trust, is only given! (Aloud.) 
Rightly did I hear — and so I thought. This 
day to Valerius I will send — the truth to him 
must be revealed — but oh! the issue, what it 
may be. I tremble — dare not look forward ! 
Ah ! (Sadly smiles.) Paulina ! for thee and thy 
brother I am a coward ! 

Pau. Then, my father, do not look onward. 
For the present, trust — confide in that Provi- 
dence, who, thro' the air the fleet bird guides 
aright, the wild bee supplies with food ! Let 
us trust on ! 

Max. And hope through all ! 

Pau. Expect you Livius home this eve % 

Max. Surely. He talked of bringing home 
with him, to sup, the young lord, Drusus. 

Pau. (Aside.) Ah! that name! (Tarns 
aside and presses her heart.) (Aloud.) Father ! 
I now must go. I pray thee excuse me. (Exit 
quickly. ) 

Max. (Sadly.) What! Too well I see! 
'Tis him she loves ! poor girl ! I mark'd the 
silent agony she vainly tried to hide, as I spoke 
of parting forever — and but now she press'd 



18 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

her heart, as if its throbs she'd stifle ! Paulina ! 
Heaven have pity ! [Exit.) 



Scene Third. 



[Banquet hall in Maxentius' palace — Paulina, Maxentius, Livius, Valerius, 
Drusus, are seen, rising from table.] 

Val. Brightly shines the moon. (To Pau- 
lina.) Lady, will you not forth with me and 
taste this balmy evening air \ This golden light 
is bathing each tree and flower, in hues more 
soft and tender far, than e'er in Day's rude beam 
they wear ! (Aside.) Oh ! let high heaven 
grant, this eve I can reach her heart ! Troubled 
does she seem. Her wonted look of vestal calm, 
and statue-like purity, now seems exchanged for 
a mood more kindred to us grosser mortals ! 
(Aloud.) Lady, thy answer I await ! 

(Looks at her father, then says to Valerius :) 

Pau. Valerius, sir, I will out with you. 

(They pass through a glass door out into a spacious garden.) 



A TRAGEDY. 19 

Max. (Aside.) Ah ! my heart throbs ! I 
would that Paulina upon herself had not taken 
this disclosure ! In vain I pray'd her. ltesolute 
she was ! 

Ditu. (Aside.) Well ! what's now to be 
done % Alike rapt in thought are both my host, 
and Livius, too! The gloomiest supper, by Pol- 
lux, I was ever at! Now, hence the only lady 
of our'number 's gone, there's nothing more to 
look on ! And, if it had not been of my fair 
Greek I deem'd a glance I'd get, at the amphi- 
theatre to-night I would have been. Ill looks 
the old man; my new-bought tunic would I give, 
the trouble in this house to know — something 
is the matter ! (Aloud to Livius.) Pale is the 
worthy Maxentius ! 

Liv. (Stepping hastily to his father.) Sir, I 
fear me thou art ill ! 

Max. Nay, my son, but I am an old man 
now, and slight things harass me. I would 
speak with thee in my library. Lord Drusus 
will pardon that for a brief while I take thee 
away. 



20 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Dru. Oh ! pray you, mention it not. I'll 
take a garden stroll ! 

Liv. (To Drusus.) I leave thee, but will 
soon return. 

(ExitLivius and his father one way, and Drusus another.) 



Scene Fourth. 



[A retired walk in the garden of Maxentius. Faulina seated on a bench — 
behind her a statue of Venus — Valerius is standing before her.] 



Val. The hour has come when I must speak 
— my heart must and shall know all ! Paulina, 
long to one another have we promised been ; 
and by our contract's words, thy father's oath, 
the day, the hour approaches, to make thee all 
my own. Paulina, speak ! tell me how will that 
day seem to thee ] Joy will it bring ; the quick, 
gushing sense of the full content pervading 
every nerve, of happiness too great to be ex- 
pressed ; or wilt not rather be, perchance 'tis 
now, the dull, yet heavy pain ; the deep gnaw- 



A TRAGEDY. 21 

ing at the heart, of an o'er-tasked spirit 1 Dost 
not thou watch each sun's fresh beam, as't 
paints the eastern sky ; gaze on the moon's 
pale spirit-light, with the shuddering horror of 
the ever-present thought, " nearer and nearer 
comes my hated bridal I " 

(Paulina seems about to speak, lie interrupts her and contin- 
ues speaking slowly, mournfully, changing at last into a tone of 
passionate feeling.) 

Lady, thou lov'st me not ! thou canst not say 
thou dost ! — This hour 's but into certainty ma- 
tured, the dread of a long sad year ! thy coming 
bridal to thee is " hated." Oh, I know it fear- 
fully well ! E'en thy very silence thy veiled 
heart shows ! Go ! be happy — thy hand I do 
resign ! ne'er will Valerius his detested love 
urge on thee more — I would not wish thee in 
my halls to pine. Valerius seeks not a joyless, 
loveless bride ; yet think thou not for this I 
blame thee — never! thou 'st tried — thou canst 
not love me ! The gods Valerius have not 
made a woman's love to win ! They smiled' not 
on my birth ! sole pledge I was, of a union 
where neither lov'd ! and neither one loved me ! 



22 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

With the first sweet food of infancy, I drew 
contention in. From all claim I do release thee ; 
and to Maxentius and the kinsmen few, Time — 
Death — to me have left, I'll say 'twas / first 
sought release — thy sire, he shall not chide ! 
Thou art free ! yet e'er thou goest, I pray thee 
let me tell how this heart has loved, will love 
thee, forever ! Naught hut a soldier, rude and 
unused to woo, not so vain am I, as to deem I 
can move thy heart ! Born on a field of war, 
lull'd to mine infant rest, 'mid the noises of a 
camp, oft' dandled in the arms of steel-clad men ; 
and (save a few brief years in childhood's glad- 
some time ; some hurried visits e'er youth had 
gone, and this last year) nurtured 'mid the 
thousand scenes of war, methinks most uncul- 
tured, rude, must I ever seem to thee, oh being, 
almost divine ! thou, who in this palace-home, 
wert rear'd most gently, and with fond, unceas- 
ing love ! From this heart (poor heart !) will 
never fade the mem'ry of that day, when, dear 
maiden, first these eyes beheld thee. To this 
home I first had come, since Maxentius had my 
guardian been. With all a stripling's pride, my 



A TRAGEDY. 23 

maiden sword I wore. Held in thy nurse's arms, 
a fair and gentle bud, of but two summers' 
bloom, with pretty childish terror, thou at my 
sword unsheathed, did shriek. Hushed sudden- 
ly thy cries, to me you tried to come ; I took 
and held thee ; thine arms lock'd round my 
neck — smiles, tears, contending, mingling with 
rainbow grace — thy fond and clinging grasp, I 
felt it all the day ! Thy beauty's dawn pass'd in- 
to the morning bright, of thy fairest holy child- 
hood. Each successive visit to thy halls I paid, 
still found I thee, as ever, gentle, kind ; — thy 
quiet sports, thy roamings o'er these garden 
paths, thy sonsjs, e'en the wild and frolic- 
mirth of Livius, (a gay boy then,) thou would'st 
leave, with pretty mimickry mine hostess feign 
thyself, and proffer me, a thoughtful, wearied 
boy, a draught of wine — oh, 'twas welcome from 
thy dear hand ! what madness 'twas to dream, to 
dare to think, thy sister love could ever change 
to love resembling that I felt for thee ! Years 
passed away ; — a girl thou wert, Paulina, of 
years eleven, when by my duties called, I left 
thee for a long, long journey. When once more 



24 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

on thy face serene I look'd, something me- 
thought I miss'd, that once was there ; the un- 
dimm'd joyousness, the child's fresh, unthinking 
glee was gone fore'er ! on thy brow rested the 
still shadow of too early womanhood, young 
maid of fourteen years ! That shade fell on my 
heart, as, embrowned by three years 'neath the 
burning sun of Africa, again at thy side I stood, 
as betrothal vows we utter'd ! The loss of 
childhood's joy ; was't the only change I mark'd'? 
Not so ! Oh, Paulina ! why, why did I not 
then boldly face the truth X Should not thy 
hand, colder than ice, when held in mine, thine 
eyes cast down — no longer raised to me with the 
true welcoming I once read there, have dis- 
pelled the veil I icould not raise ; whispered the 
truth, I would not listen, " she loves thee not?" 
Fool, weak, crazed fool I was ! Alas ! I called 
it (strove to think it) young, girlish fear ; 
woman's pride, who, her heart's most sacred 
feeling, hides the most. To my heart I whis- 
per'd hope and courage ; said thou would'st 
learn to love, when my fond, adoring love, by 
thee was known — that when, by thinking on thy 



A TRAGEDY. 25 

blessed name, I nerved this arm to new deeds of 
valor, and from thy dear Italy, thy household 
gods warded off the spoiler's tramp, I should 
win thy love at last! Cheered by this hope, 
(sweet while it lasted — oh ! ne'er mays't thou 
know what 'tis, in agony to know — to feel — the 
death of Hope ! to know no hope, save that soon 
death may come !) thy worshipp'd image in my 
heart I shrined. Thy name, Paulina, 'twas the 
spell, 'mid battle's din, with tenfold strength, 
mine arm to nerve, in the thickest rank, to dis- 
pel the foe, and fight for thee and country ; to 
keep from scenes of vice, one whose blood, by 
nature flowed too strong and hot — for thee I 
wish'd pure to be ! A year in Rome have I now 
been — thou 'rt still in all, the same four years ago 
thou wert ! — a twelve-month since I noted — I 
see it now — if possible a greater coldness. Thine 
avoidance of my presence — the marble cheek 
that never reddens at my gaze — thy quiet, cold 
" Valerius, art thou well ?" and " Fare thee well, 
my lord," when thee I meet or leave, scarce 
does it seem to evince e'en a sisters love ! In 
mercy take not that from my desolate path ! 

3 



26 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Since you cannot love, oh,, hate me not ! Thee 
will I annoy — oh ! never more ! Let me dream 
on, that when far away (as soon I shall be — the 
gods grant never to return !) from thee and 
Italy's templed cities, and vine-clad, sunny 
plains, there is yet, of me, kindly thinking, one 
woman-heart! [He kneels at her feet.) Oh, 
when years have rolled, .to thee, brightly, 
swiftly away — and in thy bower thou sitt'st — the 
Celestials grant, a wife beloved ! — and little ones, 
— thy children play round thy knee ! oh, think 
— and genlly, kindly — of one whose bones may 
then be whitening in some far-distant land — who 
for thee wished to live ; gladly for thee would 
die ! We shall not meet again alone — once, ere 
I leave, in presence of thy household band, a 
calm, feigned cold farewell to thee I'll utter. 
Live beloved and happy ! The Immortals hear 
my prayer, and rain blessings on thy precious 
head ! Farewell ! and oh ! alas ! forever ! 

(About to go. Paulina calls him back.) 

Pau. Valerius, brother, stay ! 

Val. " Brother !" thou dost not hate me, 



A TRAGEDY. 27 

then ; 'tis much to thank heaven for ! I bless 
thee ! 

Pau. Valerius, truly thou hast said 'tis the 
hour when all must be revealed — it shall ! 
Friend, believe me thou 'It one day joy I'm not 
the partner of thy home ! 

Val. Never! oh, never will that be ! " Joy." 
Bather 'twill be the one long agony of life ! 
The dwellers of Olympus bless thee ever ! and 
if there be a Power, — as in Socratic love we 're 
taught there is, — and at times I've dreamed 
there is, — all other gods above, — to Him I pray 
thy steps to guard, thy heart to cheer, through 
life, — and in death ! 

Pau. He will ! Oh, Valerius, trust in — pray 
to Him alone, — as I do. 

Val. What, what mean you 1 I'd fain hope 
thou 'rt jesting ! No, it cannot be ! No smile 
wreathes thy lip — no laughter sparkles in thine 
eye! Speak! What fearful meaning do thy 
words conceal ! Thou dost not, canst not 
mean, the gods of thy country — 

Pau. To me are naught but frightful lies ' 



28 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

I kneel at a holier altar, — I worship a purer 
faith ! 

Val. I would I were dead ! thou art not — 

Pau. Tis even so ! One of that despised, 
widely-scattered band, — the persecuted Naz- 
arenes ! 

Val. Oh, prithee hush ! Have pity on thy- 
self; breathe not this dread secret to the winds 
of night ! In thine own bosom lock it ! share 
it with none ; why dids't thou breathe it aloud ? 
Fearest thou not betrayal 1 

Pau. Never from thee ! 

Val. Lady, 'tis but justice you do me. 

Pau. Unshrinking would I trust my life in 
thy hands. 

Val. Ah ! thanks ; but prithee lower thy 
voice ! thou 'rt rash ; remember some of thy 
slaves may o'erhear, and betray thy words ! 

Pau. I fear it not ! know, Valerius thou 'rt in 
a Christian household ! They, who duteous 
wait on us, and nearly all of whom were born 
this roof beneath, share the same faith with 
us — ! 

Val. Is 't possible ! what, all ? 



A TRAGEDY. 29 

Pau. I should have said all, with but one 
exception ; my woman, Medora — she 's waver- 
ing, I grieve to say, 'tween the idols of her fair 
and classic land, and the Holy Truth I would 
she'd embrace — a Greek she is ! 

Val. Alas ! what shall — can I say, thy faith 
to shake \ 

Pau. Nothing ! 

Val. Art sure % bethink thee. Dost know 
that now in these most fearful, bloody days, 
such torture as thou canst not dream, and oft' 
e'en death itself awaits all who 'tis found hold 
the Nazarene faith \ Oh, listen — on the star- 
gemmed sky thou 'rt gazing, and dost not hear 
my words ! 

Pau. Dear friend — true friend — brother of 
happier days — all this full well I know, and 
do regard it not ! I am the bride of death ! 
Fast comes the hour, when part we must, for- 
ever. Oh, prithee listen now my words. Thou 
dost well deserve this poor heart should all un- 
veiled be, before thy pitying gaze ! Thou 'st 
asked me not to hate. That did I never, and 
never will, or can ! Thou hast e'er been, and 



30 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

always, e'en in death's last hour, thou shalt be 
to Paulina, a brother beloved and cherished ! 
(Aside.) How can I tell my shame ! (Aloud.) Oh, 
pity ! forgive ! when, yielding to a fond parent's 
will, a child of but fourteen summers,- 1 plighted 
thee my hand, scarce knew I the dawning pas- 
sion that was rising e'en then upon my soul ! 

Val. What have I lived to hear ! 

Pau. A bitter cup has been given me to 
drink ! When, ere that betrothal hour, thou 
wast in Afric's land, when first thou went, 
know 'twas my evil hap, another face to see — 
with baneful gaze upon my girlish path it rose 
— (wildly) — upon my soul 'twill shine — alas ! until 
I die! 

Val. Alas ! all is over ! 

Pau. Thou say'st true ! all for me is over ! 
Led by a brother's hand, a stranger youth min- 
gled in our common sports. The chosen friend 
of Livius, 'twas natural he should oft' frequent 
our palace, and that I should meet him. His 
kindness, unlike the other youths whom Livius 
knew, to me, a timid girl, first made me think of 
him. Time passed away, in its flight, each 



A TRAGEDY. 31 

month disclosing a mind so various, a heart so 
full of moods and fancies strange, I could not 
choose but think of him. One hour you 'd deem 
him a pale devotee, vowed in service to the 
gods — anon with warlike mien and martial step, 
proudly our halls he'd tread, with crimson'd 
cheek and flashing e)e, descanting Rome's con- 
quests on distant fields, vowing, when few more 
summers o'er his brow had roll'd, a soldier 
brave he'd be. But the last scion of a noble 
line, the darling of an aged grandsire's heart, 
to the army he ne'er was sent — the old man 
could not bear from him to part — and while in 
life, he kept him in Rome ! 

Val. (Aside.) Who is he? I do begin now 
to conjecture ! 

Pau. How can I tell you all his fantasies? One 
hour sullen, his brow darken'd with gloom, — 
indeed without a cause — shunning all, the 
grove's darkest path he'd trace — the next at the 
banquet I've seen him, the life, the joy of all ! 
One hour the kind, gentle friend, the gifted 
scholar, the glowing poet of words that made 
me weep and breathe a purer air, and tread, 



3 "2 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

it seemed, a higher, better life — the next, the 
young, favor' d gallant, in the saloons of our 
city's gayest dames ! Unlike to all I had e'er 
seen, you far away, and unknowing my father's 
wishes, plans for me, I could not banish, in 
truth I did not try, from my heart the memory 
and thought of him who thus, perchance, e'en 
more for his very faults, was endear'd to me ! 

Val. (Aside.) Will she ne'er have done? A 
livino- death is this ! 

Pau. Child that I was, I knew not — oh ! I 
dream'd not 'twas love's dawning that I felt ! 
Could I tell on the volcano's brink I stood — on 
the lava cover'd pit, that soon — too soon — would 
ope, to engulph my all of happiness — of peace ! 
Alas ! I knew it not ! 

Val. (In a low and broken tone.) And he 
— he loved thee well, doubtless? 

Pau. (Dreamily.) Why ask? oh, I know 
not — once it seemed, — to this hour I cannot 
tell ! (She falls into thought.) 

Val. Wilt please thee go on ? 

Pau. (Starting.) True — I'm tired — oh ! 
very tired ! 



A TRAGEDY. 33 

Val. (Aside.) And I ! 

Pau. Time brought, at length, the spring 
before the summer thou wast expected home. 
Life's shadow did rest upon rny brow ! But a 
short time before, l'hebe, — my nurse — dost re- 
member her? — had died, and dying, did to me con- 
fide she was a Christian — and her last breath pass'd 
in begging me her course to follow. In my 
hand the holy books of the Nazarenes she 
placed, — implored me them to read, received 
with joyful tears my promise, and — calmly died ! 
I read, I thought and pondered much ! began to 
doubt my father's creed ! Just when my soul 
was tossed — shaken by these doubts — he 
sicken'd ; O ! very sick was he ! Then first I 
with dread began to doubt — to fear I loved him 
— ay ! more than all else on earth ! 'Twas an- 
guish to think of that mass of golden hair, those 
long curls, streaming o'er his bed — the regal 
brow, all fever-flushed — and that eye of darkest 
blue, soon it might be, to be quenched in death ! 
Thou earnest. Oh, thou wert as ever good, and 
kind. But for thee, I did not — could not feel 



34 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

as for him, and too, then I began too see — to 
fear thon did'st love me other than as a sister ! 

Val. Ah, me ! 

Pau. I thought to check thee by coldness ; 
and when, after but a brief stay, thou return'dst 
to thy distant battle-field, I was relieved ! But, 
friend, I weary thee ; I had far better cease. 

Val. Ah, no ! I pray thee, continue ! 

Pau. There came at length, the spring be- 
fore thou wast expected back, and of thy suit, 
his wish, my sire did tell — and I — oh, nearly I 
died ! But, yielded at length my cold assent to 
Maxentius' wish. What else could I do ? No 
sign he had e'er given could cause me deem my- 
self beloved. O'er- wearied, sadly doubtful of 
my fitting course of duty, I plighted thee my 
faith. Thou wert right in judging me changed 
— life's shadow did rest on my young brow ! It 
was at that time he sickened, as I told thee. Of a 
truth, it seemed to me that wave on wave of 
trouble roll'd o'er my head ! 

Val. Better I had died ! 

Pau. Alas ! say not thus ! At length came 
the eve, and hour of our betrothal. He, ere 



A TRAGEDY. 35 

then, had much recovered and was present 
'mong our guests at that evening's revel. 

Val. (Eagerly.) Didst thou speak with 
him ? 

Pau. Alas! yes! Was 't wrong? 

Val. What said he ? 

Pau. Cruel ! Why recall the memory of 
that hour ? 

Val. I pray thee tell me ! 

Pau. Low in mine ear he breathed : " Lady, 
thou 'rt betrothed — and I — would mother earth 
but ope and in her bosom hide me, peace I'd 
there find!" 

Val. (Moodily.) Ah ! a truce there was at 
length to thy long doubt. Thou wast loved ! 
Thou didst feel joyous then ! 

Pau. (Sadly.) Valerius! Thou didst speak 
of my "joy"; ah, me ! if any I felt, 'twas soon 
gone, as if 'twere a lightning flash ! From me 
he turned, and his laugh, gleeful as ever, rang 
on my ear ! 

Val. Ah ! he could not have loved ! 

Pau. No ! 'tis impossible ! He did not love; 



36 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

and but his giddy impulse prompted him those 
words to utter ! 

(A long pause, which Paulina is the first to break.) 

My friend, wilt thou not believe I have tried 
to wrench this wild love from my heart % 

Val. Lady, I do believe it ! 

Pau. In all sad truth, I have tried — but vain 
is ev'ry struggle. Tis blent with my life ; and 
only in death — if then — can I cease to love ! 
[Hides her face.) 

Val. Oh, 'tis misery to see thee weep ! 

Pau. [Looking up.) Noble heart ! Oh, 
Valerius, become one of us, a Nazarene ! 

Val. I would I were ! 

Pau. And why that wish ? 

Val. Because then I might die with thee ; 
perchance at the same time, the same death of 
torture ! And thus to die were sweet ! 

Pau. [Aside.) Did man ever thus love 
before 1 [Aloud.) Alas ! dear friend, must I 
reprove thee I Indeed thou should'st not thus 
love — 'tis idolatry. I entreat thee, subdue this 
love, too fond ! Cast it from thee by the force of 
man's strong will ! Choose some other, more 



A TRAGEDY. 37 

worthy, far, than Paulina could e'er become ! 
And oh, in after years — when to thee, I am 
but as a fond remember'd dream — in some hap- 
pier land, where liberty is not a vision, may'st 
thou live beloved and happy ! Thy life, so 
lonely now, be gilded with the sweet earth- 
tendrils of home affections ! 

Val. (Striking his hand on his brow.) Alas ! 
Paulina ! thou should'st not give me this counsel ! 
Oh, thou 'rt not kind ! Thou say'st thou hast 
no power from thy heart to tear the love thou 'st 
felt for only four years ! and yet thou art in thy 
beauty's prime ! And canst thou deem that I, 
in whose hair, once raven black, there 's now 
many a silver lock ; whose love for these fifteen 
years has been my life, can now change ? 
Adored one, I tell thee — no ! 

(He turns away and weeps.) 

Pau. (Aside.) His agony, his tenderness, 
wring my very soul ! I fear me he will die ! 
(Aloud.) In mercy cease to weep ! 

Val. Thou wilt pardon, I well believe, these 
last tears. But see ! among the trees, at a distance 
— a light — it nears this way — methinks from 

4 



38 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

the palace it doth come — ah, must we then 
part % 

Pau. Yes! (She kisses him.) Receive a 
sister's kiss ! May we meet in Heaven at last ! 
(Aside, as she goes away.) Oft' have I heard, but 
ne'er believed till now, that strange is a woman's 
heart. 

Val. (Aside.) I feel an old man now ! 
(Exit.) 



Scene Fifth. 



[Same scene. As Valerius is lost to sight, Drusus comes from behind the statue 
—he advances to front of stage— he looks amazed.] 

Dru. What have I heard? Little did I 
think, when in the mirthful spirit of the hour, 
to hear the grave Valerius utter forth his love, 
I hid behind the goddess' statue, what was to 
meet my ear ! Alas ! this is an hour of deep 
sadness and fearful joy ! Hardly my senses can 



A TRAGEDY. 39 

I believe, yet what have I but just heard her 
lips avow ? She loves me ! has loved me — deep- 
ly, truly — amid the changes of long years ! 
and I — 1 too, love her ! Back on me, as a tor- 
rent's power, I feel the rushing force of the 
love that made me utter those words on her 
espousal night, she hath so long remembered ! 
How fair she is ! how pure ! With what 
courage meek she listen'd as of tortures Val- 
erius spoke ! and he — well doth he love her ; 
he's nobler far than I! but she loves me! Oh, 
Drusus, see to it that thou liv'st, henceforth, a 
better life. Her I ever lov'd — and vainly tried 
with fires of many another altar, to love again ! 
Vainly I bow'd 'fore the shrines of the superb 
Flavia, the gay Lucille, the pensive Helena, and 
last this passion-soul, Medora ! child of the 
sun ! she, alas ! loves me so, I dread it! What 
am I, gay, thoughtless flatterer, through life's 
stern duties, the love of two such women to 
receive \ Drusus ! hitherto to but little pur- 
pose hast thou liv'd ! This night's secrets most 
carefully will I keep ! Sure, in the faith that 
thro' unimagined horrors, and renouncement of 



40 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

all, can render Paulina thus calm, there must be a 
wond'rous power ! Into their doctrines let me 
examine ; home I had better go. Medora I wish 
not to see this night ! Oh, I scorn, loathe my- 
self, that I e'er listened her whispered breathings 
'gainst Paulina ! Vile she must be, or sure her 
mistress gentle she 'd love. Beautiful she is, 
but 'tis a beauty all of earth and passion born! 
From my eyes the scales have fallen ! I no more 
love, detest her rather ! I will away — in truth 
I'm much disordered ! Will she not rage ? How 
longer can I bear her jealousies, repinings, 
pride and vain persistence that I should wed 
her 1 I fear me she may come ere I the street 
can reach ! 

(Turns to go, and suddenly Medora enters.) 

[Aside.) Ah, wo! too late I am ; she's here! 

(Medora walks straight up to him, and placing her hand on 
his shoulder, looks fixedly in his eyes) 

Med. [Aside.) He does not speak ! Nor, 
this night, are his eyes love-lighted ! Last eve 
'twas not thus ! Suspicion, what pangs thou 
plantest in my heart ! Ah ! what I ever dreaded, 
has it now befallen me ! I'll prove him ! 



A TRAGEDY. 41 

Dru. (Aside.) This silence bodes no good! 

Med. (Aloud, and still keeping her eyes fastened 
on him.) My Lord, thy pardon I crave, for thus 
detaining thee, but the lady Paulina I have been 
assisting to her couch — she is not well ! 

Dru. (Starting.) Ah ! (Aside.) Down 
fears ! 'tis but a lie of hers ! am I not taught 
ne'er to believe a word she says ? I'll feign as 
if I heard not ! (Looks up to the sky.) 

Med. (In a tone of imitation.) Didst thou 
not hear, my Lord 1 

Dru. (Lightly.) Oh, fairest of damsels, 
what said you ? 

Med. (Aside.) What am I to think ! He 
did start, but was it at her name] (Aloud.) I 
said, my lord, here I could not meet thee sooner, 
as lady Paulina has been ill — 

Dru. Seem'd the time long to you? 

Med. Why ask me % heartless one, thou 
dost know it but too well — well thou know- 
est that to be with thee, are the sweetest — 
and oh, woe is me, the saddest moments of 
my menial life. Immortal ones, what 's my 
crime or what my father's, that I, sprung from a 



42 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

royal line, should here pass my wearied life 
in — 

Dru. (Aside.) I can no more ; too much 
I've heard. Will she goad me to rage, now 
will I taunt her, if for it I die. (Aloud.) I 
prithee be not chafed, loveliest of waiting 
maids — 

Med. Base and cruel ! thou would'st then 
add insult to coldness ! 

Dru. (Affecting to yawn.) Ah ! ah ! pray 
thee don't indulge, child, in too long an exulta- 
tion. The night air groweth somewhat cold, 
and methinks I will retire to bed ! 

Med. (Aside.) This passes all. (Aloud.) I 
go, and well I know why from me thou dost 
wish to fly. Why thou would'st escape my just 
anger and sight of the tempest thou hast raised, 
the cause is clearly seen ! Paulina here has 
been and 'tis her thou lovest ! 

Dru. Medora, 'tis thou art cruel, rash ; wilt 
thou ever raise the pale and lowering phantom 
of jealousy 'tween our hearts'? 

Med. No more, I wish not again to hear thy 



A TRAGEDY. 43 

once lov'd voice. Thou needst not lie any more 
for me ! 

Ditu. Lie ! 

Med. I ! 'tis so, I repeat it — a lie ! all a lie ! 
Thou canst not deceive me ! I am loved no 
more ! What say I ? " no more " ; perchance I 
never was ! Go ! art thou a rock, that all un- 
moved thou canst stand to gaze on my tears, my 
woe ? If thou hast a heart leave me ! (Weeps.) 
But I loathe myself that I weep — and for thee, 
liar! traitor! perjurer! 

Ditu. (Gently.) Medora, I pray thee — 

Med. Said I not I would hear no more % 
Gods ! I wonder earth opens not to hide thee 
from my sight ! Oh, what am I, that I stand to 
list' thy words I (In a softer voice.) Here end 
this wretched life ! raise thy sword and plunge 
it in my heart ! and may my flowing blood 
quench thy hate ! (Sifiks on a bench.) 

Dru. (Aside.) Each moment wilder grows 
her frenzy — how can I soothe \ (Approaches 
her.) Medora! (A pause .and no answer.) Me- 
dora ! ( Very gently.) 



44 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Med. Leave me to die ! [Hides her face and 
iveeps.) 

Dru. (Bending over her.) Oh, misery ! Me- 
dora, is 't possible thou canst think I wish thy 
death 1 oh, never ! thee, thee only, do I love ! 
(Aside.) Jove forgive this lie ! (Aloud.) In 
pity, Medora, look up ! thy swan's neck raise — 
look, and see these eyes beaming with love for 
thee ! Fairest, thou may'st, but I ne'er can my- 
self forgive, that by my rash folly, thou hast 
suffered this night. Pardon ! 'tis Venus knows 
thee only do I love. 

Med. (Aside.) Gods of my country how 
lies this man ! for an instant's space I'll feign 
I do believe him — then cast him from me! 
(Aloud, and kneeling to him.) Say once again 
the life-sustaining word, thou lovest me. 

Dru. (Raising and embracing her.) Only 
thee ! 

Med. (Pretending to sob.) Was it not cruel, 
thine own heart ask, thus with feigned coldness, 
to torture her, thou knowest did love thee ? 

Dru. Alas ! most base, cowardly it was — 
for well I knew thy love ! 



A TRAGEDY. 45 

Med. (Raising her head and looking sternly at 
him.) Aye, thou didst know how I can love ! 
Thou canst not know how I can, do hate. The 
just God strike me dead if henceforth my life I 
do not devote to thy destruction, and her who 
yonder sleeps ! No mercy will I show or feel if, 
as my heart forbodes, thy love is returned. I go 
to prove her ! Her secret I know ! And if 'tis 
thou she loves, Pollio, I swear, shall know it ! 
(Exit.) 

Dru. (Striking his hand on his forehead.) 
What have I done? (Calls.) Medora ! Me- 
dora ! 

(Rushes frantically after her, and curtain falls.) 



4 

ACT II.— Scene 1st. 

[Bed-chamber of Paulina — she asleep on her bed — a night-lamp burning — 
enter by a door, at some distance from the bed, Medora; she grasps a 
dagger, and stands looking across the room at the sleeper.] 

Med. There she lays, — his minion! dreaming, 
mayhap, of him, or perchance gloating o'er the 
beauty, that brought him to her feet ! ay ! sleep 
on while you can ! art dreaming of his long 
curls ] ha ! ha ! and he — gods ! may be dreaming 
of thee ! Ha ! ha ! I would ye were both dead ! 
Paulina, thou little dream'st the haunting fury 
of thy life stands near thy bed ! How soon 
with this {brandishing the dagger) could I pour 
thy life stream forth ! and thee send far beyond 
lover, or parent's care ! but no ! no ! another 
death shall be thine ! perchance, mistress, thou 'It 
not find it a rose-strewn couch, that wafts thee 
to the blessed fields ! Not quite ! oh, not quite ! 
I sicken ! 'tis black around — I cannot breathe ! 
Pluto ! let me not pass beyond the unending 
shade that time's scenes veils from our gaze, 



A TRAGEDY. 41 

ere my work is done ! Dread sisters ! hear my 
prayer! (Paulina moves and murmurs words.) 
What ! methought I heard words — I'll nearer 
draw, and list' what 'tis she will utter, for oft' in 
sleep the heart itself betrays ! (Crosses the room 
ami stands at Paulina's bed.) Now speak, and 
let me soon know my misery's full extent ! 

(Paulina moves, moans and speaks.) 

Pau. Ah ! look not so wildly upon me ! 
dost not remember \ see ! 'tis Paulina — ill \ yes ; 
indeed my poor girl thou hast been, oh ! very ill 
— the burning fever in thy veins raged these 
nine days — yes ! now with heaven's blessing, 
thou 'It soon be well, my poor Medora ! Let me 
thy hot hand and brow in these cooling, per- 
fumed waters bathe ! Now thou wilt rest, and 
I to thee a hymn will sing, of love and thanks to 
Him, who to life has brought thee back — nay ! 
I pray thee try to rest ! 

Med. I shall hear no more ! Too much I've 
heard if now pity is stealing into my outraged 
heart! Back thoughts! Shame! I did not 
think myself so weak! I curse thee! oh, bet- 
ter 't would be, if thou hadst, unpitied, let me 



48 ROMAM MARTYRS. 

die when the fever held me ! (Bends over the 
sleeper.) Once will I look at thy hated beauty! 
Yes, she's very fair! Ha! what's this tablet in 
her hand, thus clasped, she holds? What! is 
there writing on it ? I must — will see ! ( Takes, 
cautiously, a small ivory tablet from Paulinas 
hand, carries it to the light, and bends over the flame 
to read it.) Ah! oh! now have I certainty ! this 
name; 'tis " Drusus," " Drusus " ! naught but 
" Drusus '' ! and in her own hand also ! Ah, 
girl ! no better deed didst thou e'er do, than 
teach me the written character to decipher ! 
thanks ! for this I do thank thee ! thou canst 
not call me hasty ! More proof I'll have ! (She 
drops the tablet, and springing to the window, leans 
out, and feigns to scream.) Oh ! oh ! alas ! help ! 

Pau. (Waking.) Who calls ? heard I not a 
voice ? ah, the night air blows coldly round me ! 
my casement open, and a form leans from it ! I 
tremble ! Who is 't X who 's there ? 

Med. (From the windoiv.) Madam, 'tis I ! 

Pau. Is riot the hour late? methought all in 
the house did sleep. What do you there, Me- 
dora % 



A TRAGEDY. 49 

Med. (Still at the window.) Fearful ! all is 
over ! borne home ! the poor young lord ! alas ! 
the torch's glare was cast full on his pallid face, 
and on the pool of blood slow welling from his 
side ! Thankful in sooth I am, his grandsire 
liv'd not this night of woe to see ! 

Pau. (Rising from the bed, and aside.) Oh, 
heaven ! what do I hear ? " young lord " ! 
*' grandsire " ! (Aloud.) What mean you, 
Medora ? is any one hurt \ 

Med. (Turning and looking at her.) Madam ! 
the lord Drusus, desperately wounded in a night 
brawl with senator Dolabella, they now bear 
home ! 'Tis feared he will not live at dawn ! 

(Paulina faints away.) 

Med. Lay there and die, if so it please you ! 
(Exit.) 



50 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Scene Second. 

[A long street of the city— time, early dawn; enter at one end, a young Greek 
man, a favorite slave of Maxentius; he speaks, as he walks rapidly down 
the street.] 

I like it not, this illness so sudden of our 
master ! 'tis as if poison with it something had 
to do ! The noble Maxentius holds so marked 
a place 'mong the disciples of our faith, that 
were it known, his change, their advantage it 
would be for him to die ! Nor see I, but dis- 
covery soon must come. Bravely may we all 
meet it, to heaven I pray — and faithful follow to 
the eud, the tottering fortunes of this noble 
house ! Strange, of Medora this night I dream'd 
when e'er in fitful slumber mine eyes I closed ! 
Her I distrust, but wherefore — cannot tell ! 
List', I hear a footstep — who is \1 'tis a 
woman's, as I live ! 

(Enter hastily Medora ) 

(Aside.) Ha ! what ! she here, and the 
hour so early ! in sober earnest, I like 
it not ! (Aloud.) Ha, Medora! I prithee what 
thus early calls thee forth? (Aside.) How 
pale and wild she looks ! 



A TRAGEDY. 51 

Med. (Aside.) Ah! I would we bad not 
met! (Aloud.) Of thee, Deodatus, the same 
question I might seek to know ! 

Deo. (Aside) She answers not ! I fear her ! 
(Aloud.) A sad cause brings me here. For the 
leech I go — ill is our noble master ! 

Med. (Aside.) Ill 1 and may 't not lead to 
death, and me spare necessity all to — but no ! 
On, heart, on ! no faltering now ! 

Deo. (Aside.) Her look is haggard ! (Aloud.) 
Medora, 1 pray thee with me in prayer unite, 
that death, (looks keenly on her) or ma) hap, ruin 
itself, from Maxentius far distant be ! 

Med. ( Wildly.) I — " death " ! " ruin " ! 
wna t — w hat \ why breathe them % ill-omen'd 
words are they ! 

Deo. Thou 'rt strangely moved ! Whither 
art going, Medora 1 

Med. (Haughtily.) Slave, question me not ! 

(She goes out; Deodatus stands looking after her, and shak- 
ing his head musingly; enter the steward of Antonia.) 

Stew. (Holding a scroll.) Hark 'ee, fellow, 
thou 'it Maxentius' slave \ 
Deo. Even so. 



52 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Stew. If home thou 'rt returning, I prithee 
bear this scroll to thy fellow-servant, Medora 
— from my noble lady it comes. 

Deo. E'en thine own message, do thyself! 
(Pointing.) Down the street her behold of 
whom you spoke ! 

Stew. What ! Medora ? 

Deo. Herself. 

Stew. The gods be praised ! (Exit hurriedly.) 

Deo. (Aside.) Tis mystery all ! Methinks 
mine errand I will do — then this to Livius tell. 
I like it not ! (Exit.) 



Scene Third. 



[Small saloon in the palace of Antonia; time, early morning; Antonia and 
Pollio seated.] 

Pol. And, lady, for my stratagem I have 
thine entire forgivness ? I tell thee, the draught 
was potent, only sickness, not death, to cause ! 



A TRAGEDY. 53 

Ant. Naught have I to pardon — thy scheme 
is good, but previously — however, it matters 
not! 

Pol. What would 'st thou say ? prithee go 
on ! 

Ant. My lord, I have not slept the night 
that 's past — and, unknowing of thy design, a 
brief while since, for one did send, who, and she 
will, can them betray, if aught there is concealed. 

Pol. The just ones aid thee, lady ! I prithee 
who is 't? 

Ant. A damsel — a Grecian, who has these 
three years, maiden been to Paulina. These 
walls she quitted for Maxentius' roof ! 

Pol. And think you — 

Ant Sure I am. I can mould her to my 
will ! in my hand she '11 be as wax ! 

Pol. To thy plan adhere ! send for and 
question her. But, lady, if unwilling she doth 
prove to reveal the truth ? Then, say I, how 
wilt thou do \ 

Ant. Tortures ! 

Pol Daughter, thy zeal is great ! What 
call'd vou her name ? 



54 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Ant. Medora. 

Pol. Medora ? ah — ay ! we recall it now. 
Lady, I can point thee a better way her stub- 
born will to move. 

Ant. Declare it ! 

(Pollio whispers in her ear; she grimly smiles.) 

Ant. Tis well ! I scarce deem it can fail — 
doubt not, I will try it. But if, my lord, $ie 
wench should prove to all persuasion deaf — 

Pol. Then will I tame the wild dove ! Ha ! 
ha ! (Enter the steward.) 

Ant. Pardon me a moment, my lord! (To 
steward.) Didst see her? 

Stew. Madam, in the street ; returned with 
me she has, and thy pleasure waits ! 

Ant. Ah! is 't so? (To Pol.) Then, my 
lord, will it please you wait? (He nods.) To 
another apartment, I will lead you. (To stew- 
ard.) Here bring the girl — soon I will return? 
(Exeunt Ant. and Pol.) 

Stew. A curse on her ! my cheek — it tingles 
yet ! A murrain on her pride ! (Exit, and re- 
turns with Medora.) Here wait my lady's 
return ! (Exit.) 



A TRAGEDY. 55 

Med. (Haughtily.) Thankful I am of him to 
be rid ! What vile impudence ! and to mc, a 
descendant from great Agamemnon ! Antoniaof 
it shall know ! stern she is, but just. 

(Enter Antonia ; Medora lowl}" bows.) 

Ant. Medora, thou canst sit, — but how 
is this ? anger flashes in thine eye ! Girl, 
what a troubled spirit is thine ! 

Med. Is 't the noble Antonia's pleasure [ 
should be insulted, and by one of her menial 
train ] 

Ant. What mean you? Thy complaint I'll 
hear, when thou hast learned the cause for 
which thou 'rt here. Full well I know pride — 
how degrading, crushing are to thee, thy duties 
near the person of thy — Paulina. Would'st 
from them be free, and dominion have o'er 
others, as they did o'er thee % Tell thy mind ! a 
wedded mate I offer thee, who, by thy will 
imperious, and charms so great, would be a 
slave to thee ! 

Med. Who is 'U 

Ant. Medora, slowly but surely, the powers 
of life are from me waning, and fast comes old 



56 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

age on. I need, who from me the charge of 
my female train can take, my orders give, and 
me of all care relieve ; of all outward matters, 
of other estates, my steward, Milo, has the 
charge. He needs a wife, and with favor looks 
on thee — no words ! hear me to the end. The 
man 's a dolt compared to thee, and thou coulds't 
lead him by a thread ! Trust my counsel, girl! 
him wed — apartments spacious beneath my roof 
will I assign thee — and dresses, ornaments 
fitting thy new post. Once wedded, trust me, 
freer thou would'st be, than if single all thy 
days. Milo a jealous husband would not prove ! 

Med. [With irony.) Truly an inducement! 
a marriage so desirable ! 

Ant. (Aside.) I like not her tone ! 

Med. Madam, I prithee accept my thanks — 
to be so near thy person, 'tis what I 'd choose, 
could I take it without the spouse you offer — 
but he, — oh, that is quite another thing ! faugh ! 
Of him let us not speak ! 

Ant. Wherefore not ? 

Med. (With prudery.) Lady, I like not 
men! 



A TRAGEDY. 57 

Ant. Beware! thy lies, minion, I will not 
listen! Me, thou canst not deceive! Un- 
mask'd thou rt standing before me ! The veil 
of secrecy is raised, that once hid thy life, — so 
loose ! Wretched one ! dare no more say to 
me, that men you like not. Bethink thee, once 
thou didst like them all too well ! 

Med. Lady, I crave thy meaning ! 

Ant. Silence ! In two words I reveal it. 
Girl, thy buried shame I know ! 

Med. Mine! oh, horror! what mean you] 
Dreadful are thy words ! 

Ant. But more dreadful thy deed ! ay ! 
Mother of the murder'd dead, thou seest I know 
all ! Thy life is in my hand, I can betray thee, 
and I can save ! 

Med. Then save the innocent ! 

Ant. Innocent ! 

Med. I am ! oh, believe it. I call the Im- 
mortals to witness ! All else but this am I — but 
oh, not this ! turn not away ! Listen — pity ! 
Proud lady, I swear to thee, deceived thou hast 
been ! 

Ant. Ha ! deem not I heed thy lies ! 



58 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Med. (Aside.) They are avenged ! (Aloud.) 
Madam, in thy power I feel I am, and yet the 
same tale only can I repeat — and, oh ! alas! to 
a cold heart, and ears unheeding ! I am inno- 
cent of this crime so foul ! 

Ant. Thou sayest it! I believe thee not! 

Med. (With violence.) Hag! (Then aside.) 
And must I to entreaties descend ? (Alond.) 
Oh, is there naught I can say — do — will belief, 
conviction bring to thee that guiltless am I \ 
Nay ! turn not away ! listen my sad prayer — if 
thine own girlhood, thou dost recall, grant me 
— not pity — I scorn it ; not pardon — thee I 
never wronged — but belief that thou hast been 
deceived, and I, oh ! basely slandered ! Ah ! 
hear ! you shall ! alas ! can nothing force thee 
my word to credit % 

Ant. Why care if I yield belief to it, when 
from detection, betrayal, I guard thee ? and that 
I will do, if all my bidding thou wilt swear to 
do— 

Med. What? surely, thou 'st told me all ! 

Ant. No ! 



A TRAGEDY. 



59 



Med. What say you ? " No " ! Thy mean- 
ing plainly tell ! 

Ant. Tell me — thou must know — from thee 
how could they hide it ? are not Maxentius — his 
children, also — recreants to their honor — the 
honor of our proud house ? are not they Naza- 
renes \ 

Med. (Aside.) What shall I answer] 
what! what am I about to do] who spoke? 
who hissed in mine ear the whisper, " Paulina 
saved thy life " \ 

Ant. Speak ! dost fear? once methought 
that was a word thou didst not know ? By one 
word pronounce their doom ! Then come — and 
here, safe, adored, shalt thou reign o'er hearts — 
and, as Milo's — 

Med. No more ! why ever bait me with his 
name ! I'll not bear to listen ! In sooth, a 
tender, gentle grandame art thou ! Oh, a most 
virtuous lady ! 

Ant. [Shaking her.) Minion ! 

Med. (Pushing her off.) Dost name thyself? 
Pray you mark my words. Virtuous lady — seek 
another thy vile behest to do ! and know of 



60 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Milo — his spouse I will be — never ! Hence, 
from my side depart ! (In a lower tone and half 
to herself.) Paulina do I hate — yet thee, now, 
more, nor will be a puppet in thy hand, to pan- 
der to thy spiteful hate ! away ! ( Waves her 
hand.) Ne'er will I do thy bidding — oh ! I tell 
thee, never ! 

Ant. Is 't so 1 One comes will force thee 
tell! 

(Exit Antonia ; Medora restlessly paces the floor — stops and 
falls into deep thought — a panel in the wall opens, and Pollio 
enters, unheard by her.) 

Pol. (In a stem voice.) Murderess ! 

Med. (Trembling, kneels to him.) Oh, Juno! 
my lord ! prithee how didst thou enter ! 

Pol. Through the ceiling ! but methinkest, 
girl, thou art very bold thus to question me ! art 
trembliug at thy guilt ! Oh, most unnatural 
mother ! 

Med. (Still on her knees.) Hast thou heard, 
and dost believe, this foulest wrong 'gainst me I 
Oh, believe, believe me ! (Proudly.) My lord, 
I am not that ! oh, never that ! 

Pol. (Slowly, and looking fully at her.) I 
know it! 



A TRAGEDY. (>1 

Med. (Starting up.) Oh, bless thee — bless 
thee for those words ! 

Pol. Fool ! canst tell me what good they 
will prove to thee \ Perchance none ! When 
the dark shadow of a blighted name hangs over 
thy every path — and rumor, thousand-tongued, 
loudly proclaims thy shame — when, both feigned 
and real virtue, turn from thy step away : — when 
the hard crust of cold charity and the tear of a 
bursting heart are the food and drink of thy 
lonely hours — when he, thou a menial, hast pre- 
sumptuous, wildly dared to love, from thy sad 
gaze, coldly turns, and his toga, as 'twere a 
thing defiled, from thy pleading grasp doth 
wrench, then, in scalding tears thou wilt repent 
that ever thou darest my plans to thwart ! 

Med. (Aside.) This man is my fate ! I feel 
it ! (Aloud.) But oh ! who, who would prove 
so stony-hearted, as thus my fame to crush X 

Pol. Would'st know, girl 1 I would ; I will 
unless — 

Med. Speak while I can hear ! 

Pol. Declare what the lady Antonia sought, 
c 



62 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

but now, to learn, and thou as a cherished 
daughter shalt to Pollio be, and so great, 
empress-like, thy dower shall prove, that gay, 
needy Drusus gladly shall thee wed ! Refuse — 
and ruin shall be thine! 

Med. (Her hand on her brow) Hold !' I can 
no more ! what ! he ! my own ! what said'st 
thou % I ! what would'st thou have me do ] 
Oh ! my head ! thy promise ! oh, do it ! They 
all — the old man ; the piece of wax, Paulina ; 
and Livius, cling to — delight in — the Nazarene 
faith ! Oh ! 'tis dark ! Drusus ! ( She faints.) 

Pol. {Bending over her.) In truth, 'tis a 
dainty piece of flesh and blood ! In my bower, 
I'll shelter this wearied bird ! ha ! ha ! 

(Claps his hands ; enter four slaves bearing the litter. At a 
signal from Pollio, they place Medora in it and depart.) 

Pol. (Solus.) Ah, ha! 'tis well done! now 
to the temple I will haste ; instructions brief to 
Pronto give, and then rejoin my just-caged she- 
eagle. Ah ! very good ! (Exit, and curtain 
falls.) 



A TRAGEDY. 63 



Scene Fourth. 

[Library in Maxentius* palace — Livius alone — he speaks as he walks uneasily 
about the room.] 

Strange ! why feel I thus anxious, thus 
loaded, as 'twere with care, on this bright 
morning. So gay is all around, 'tis as if nature 
laughed at my sad heart ! No sufficient reason 
can I assign why Deodatus' tale should thus 
disturb my mind ! Let me hope the mes- 
senger will find, and she return with him ! 

(Enter gravely Deodatus ) 

Deodatus, say, did Claudia speed forth on his 
mission 1 

Deo. Noble sir, he did, and — 
Liv. Well, proceed ! 

Deo. He is now returned, but Medora could 
not be found — 

Liv. (Thoughtfully.) Most singular ! 
Deo. (Aside.) I do believe all is not right ! 
(Exit.) 

(Euter hastily Paulina.) 



64 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Pau. Oh, brother ! what ! (Looking around.) 
Not here! nor in his chamber! 

(Claps her hands ; enter Deoclatus.) 

Where is thy young master ? canst tell % 
Deo. Lady, I know not ! but a moment 

since I left him here ! 

Pau. I pray thee in his room to look — and 

of thy mates inquire ! 

(Deoclatus bows and exit.) 

Pau. (Seating herself.) Here let me rest — 
sit — as in all sad truth, I cannot well stand ! 
Hours I must have laid on that cold floor — Ah ! 
I freeze ! (Wraps her mantle around her.) He 
dead ! Alas ! Life's chain enfolds me ! Is the 
wish a sin that full soon it might snap off ! 
Desolate I am ! oh, Parent of All, in mercy take 
me home ! I feel as if near were our earthly 
downfall ! Medora too hath vanished ! But 
one thought is all too much ! Thou dead ! and 
in a midnight fight ! 

(Enter Maxcntius supported by two servants, and dressed in 
a long, loose robe. He is very pale.) 

Max. Alas! in truth, I'm very tired! I 
prithee place me in my wonted seat. (They 
sea t h im . ) Thanks! 



A TRAGEDY. 



65 



Pau. Sir, my father, art thou better] 

Max. Dear one, with thee I wish to speak ; 
(to the servants) leave us! (Exeunt servants.) 
My child, 'tis fitting thou should'st know, a 
scroll from Valerius I have had but a few 
moments since, in which all claim to thy hand 
he doth renounce ! 

Pau. (Sadly.) How doth he write X 

Max. With naught of anger, or of scorn, 
but with such deep sadness, it doth much move 
my pity ! 

Pau. {Aside.) Heaven sustain him ! 

Max. (Suddenly.) Thou art pale! Ah ! my 
dove, am I to see thee fading before mine eyes ! 

Pau. My father, think not of me! or rather 
think of, and pray for me, that 'mid the fast- 
gathering clouds that bode the tempest's wrath, 
thy child to her solemn vows and lofty hopes, 
may ever faithful be ! My father, in the blessed 
land to which we look, where I seek to anchor 
my trembling heart, — there all is an eternal 
peace ! 

(Maxentius clasps his hands— a loud knocking is heard at 
the outer gate of the palace.) 



66 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Max. What means this portentious sound ! 
Pau. (Aside.) Methinks, 'tis the herald of 
oar doom ! 

(Enter, pale and terrified, the porter of Maxentius.) 

Max. (To him.) How now, Philip 1 

Porter. Alas! good sir, what shall we do] 
A band of soldiers, headed by an officer, waiteth 
at the gate — and in the emperor's name, de- 
mandeth instant admission! 

Max. Know you the leader? . 

Porter. Sir, 'tis the young lord Ascanius, 
of the Pra?torian guard ! Ah ! In sooth, on no 
good mission can they come, thus early in the 
day ! Alack ! alack ! oh, wo ! wo ! 

Max. Peace ! know you not by the same 
Hand the storm is ordered, that sends the light 1 
Instantly throw open the gate, and see with all 
due state, the lord Ascanius is ushered to our 
presence. Go ! 

(Exit porter, beating his breast ; Paulina takes her father's 
hand.) 

Max. My blessed child ! 

(Enter, in state, the officer.) 



A TRAGEDY. 67 

Max. Sir, I trust thou 'It pardon, at the 
threshold I could not meet thee. Disabled by 
sickness I have been, and yet am but weak. 

Officer. Noble sir, fair lady — 'tis rather I 
should your pardon crave, for this sudden visit, 
but great Nero's mandate must be obeyed — and 
I am bidden give thee this ! {Placing a sealed 
writing in Maxentius' ha nil.) 

Max The imperial seal! (Opens, reads, and 
turns to Paulina.) 'Tis the royal will we go, as 
prisoners to — (Sinks back.) Ah! can I tell 
thee — my home ! my almost orphan'd children ! 

Officer. Cheer thee, my lord? 

Pau. (To him.) Sir, wilt tell me the empe- 
ror's will ? 

Officer. Lady, all that to me is known — 
mv liege decrees thou, the noble Maxentius, and 
thy brother, shalt, under my guarded escort, 
seek Jupiter's fane, there, as I think, on his 
altar to burn incense ! 

Pau. The summons we obey — but he — 
{looking at Maxentius) is old and doubly feeble 



68 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

now — and the distance long, on foot, he cannot 
bear it ! 

Officer. Lady, fear thou not — on foot he 
shall not go — a litter* waits ! 

Pau. Thanks ! Come, my father, let us go ! 
Let us bow to his will. (Exeunt.) 



ACT III.— Scene 1st. 

[Temple of Jupiter-priest, augurs, etc., kneeling around the principal altar- 
beyond, a crowd of people kneeling— curtains of purple and gold veil the 

entrance to the interior part of the temple. A flourish of trumpets; the 
curtains are drawn back, and enter, in full pontificals, magnificently at- 
tended. Pollio. Trumpets sound, priests chant. Pollio then advances to 
front Of stage, attended by Fronto, who speaks.] 

Peon. Lords of Augustus^ court! Citizens 
of Rome! list' the words of Pollio, the commis- 
sioned servant of the will of mighty Jove! 
Through him shall your petitions ascend ! See 
to it they pure and faithful be ! 

Pol. (Kneeling at the altar.) We thank thee, 
Olympus' king, that in dreams, sent from thy 
side to thy servant thou hast vouchsafed the 
knowledge of thy will! Our hearts inspire 
with deeper zeal for thee, and abhorrence of 
all who from thy shrines turn away ! In ac- 
cordance with thy will, here we swear, unless 
they change, quickly to lop off the highest 



70 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

branches of this cursed tree of heresy — and if 
need be to spare none ! 

(Uuder-priests, augurs, and Fronto respond:) 

To spare none ! 

Pol. (Rising and speaking to people.) Ro- 
mans ! 'tis my sad duty, yet most binding on me, 
to declare to ye, thro' mighty Jove's revealings 
the name of a house most honorable and lofty 
in this empire, ay ! in this city, who now 
have recreants proved to our ancient, holy 
faith! The Maxentii are Christians now ! 
(Groans and hisses in the crowd.) Soon they 
will enter here — for great Nero with 
his wonted clemency, anxious their lives 
to spare, has decreed, if they will offer homage, 
and recant, by burning incense to the gods, to 
pardon all ! 

(Enter officer and others, guarding Maxentius and Paulina. 
She is veiled.) 

Pol. (Aside.) Here's not all! (Aloud to 
officer.) Sir, how 's this ? of thy captives, thou 
hast not brought all. There should be three! 
what means this ? 

Officer. Great Pollio, the young Livius 
could not be found — his palace had he left ere 



A TRAGEDY. ~i\ 

I arrived ! a band of soldiers are now seeking for 
him ! 

Pol. Tis well. (To Maxentius.) Doth the 
lord Maxentius know for what he is summoned 
here * 

Max. I do ! 

Pol. (Looking at Paulina.) And the maid- 
en] 

Pau. Too well ! 

Pol. Ye are known to be apostates from the 
faith of Rome ! Accused, and 'tis proved true ! 
Can ye deny it ? 

Max. No! 

Pol. Old man, think of thy children — 
would'st them in ruin plunge? and thy last 
breath yield 'mid tortures or in a prison's gloom ! 
Think — pause > ! and not thus madly rush on 
death ! Yet is there time, and a way to escape ! 
Pronto ! 

(Frouto hands a censer to Pollio— he takes it.) 

Life, full pardon and greater honors than yet 
thou 'st known, Maxentius, shall be thine, our 
sovereign lord decrees, if e'en now, thou wilt 
retract, and to Jupiter homage give ! (Offers the 



72 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

censer to Maxentius.) Take it, and on yonder 
altar incense burn ! 

Max. (Aside.) Father of all ! be with me 
in this dreadful moment ! (Aloud and slightly 
pushing back Pollios hand.) I will not do it ! 
will not because I cannot in worship bow, or 
conviction yield to thy false gods, oh, deluded 
Roman ! 

Pol. Then on thine own head be the ruin thou 
has wrought ! Lost one, the gods grant thy 
child shall wiser be! (To Paulina.) Wilt not 
thou, oh, maiden, by tears and prayers thy father 
persuade ? 

(Paulina shakes her head.) 

Pol. No ! thou wilt not ! Wilt thou too 
reject the proffered mercy'? Lady, I adjure 
thee — throw not away the boon of life ! In 
sooth too fair, too young art thou to die — 

Max. I can no more ! kill me, but her life 
save ! (He swoons.) 

Pol. (To Paulina.) He must die, but his 
death hours 'twould soothe, to know thou in 
safety wert ! Cold at thy feet he lies ! 
Would'st destroy thy father? Ah! we entreat 



A TRAGEDY. 73 

thee yield ! Kneel at the altar, and as the 
smoke of thy censer rises to this gorgeous dome, 
so lady, rest thou sure, to Jove's throne shall 
our prayers ascend, for blessings rich on thee, 
and pardon of thy parent's crime ! [Offers her 
the censer.) 

Pau. (Aside, and retiring a step.) Ah ! will 
he tempt me beyond my strength ! (Aloud.) 
No ! no ! away ! 

(She comes forward, and bends over Maxentins' prostrate 
form.) 

Beloved father ! we know that each for the 
other, could it avail, would gladly die, but thou 
would'st not have me, for a brief life here, peril 
eternity ! 

Pol. (Placing the censer in her hand.) Maiden ! 
art thou frantic ? Oh, be persuaded ! 

Pau. (Throwing it on the floor.) Pagan! 'tis 
vain ! thy words are fruitless all ! Think not 
at your altar I will kneel, or pray to one who 
ne'er existed ! 

Pol. Blasphemy ! 

Pau. Know that in the faith I seek to live — 

7 



74 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

in that faith pray to die — of One who from a 
Cross, His sacred brow girded with thorns, 
pass'd to a Throne of Glory, eternal, unending ! 
We love him ! And He, ye call the crucified 
Nazarene, but we the Lord and King of gods 
and men, the only Creator of the world, aids 
me now, and doubt not, us will sustain in the 
last dread conflict ! As that old man, so do I 
now, the emperor's gift of life reject. Bear us 
to the dungeon ! 

Pol. ( With violence.) Romans ! didst hear 
her blaspheme] Hence ! away with them ! 

(Ascanius raises Maxentius, and he and Paulina are about to 
be led away, when a movement in the crowd takes place, voices 
cry "Room! make way"! and enter through the crowd, the 
Praefect of Rome, attended by guards, and a train of Christian 
captives, among whom is seen Drusus.) 

Pol. (Aside.) Drusus ! Oh, joyful day ! 
now will she be mine ! 

Prefect. Great priest of Jupiter, these did 
my soldiers find but an hour hence, engaged in 
their erring rites! and with them in sooth, my 
lord, for it, thou wilt grieve, (stand forth !) one 
whom we did ne'er think 'mong them to see ! 
the last of noble line, the lord Drusus ! 



A TRAGEDY. 75 

Pol. Tis impossible ! 

Ditu. {Advancing to front of the captives.) I 
am here ! 

Pol. Declare if 'twas rash curiosity, or what 
motive brought thee there ! 

Dru. Curiosity in part, and deep, fond inter- 
est in a Christian household first thither drew 
me ! To me the words I heard were blessed ! 

Pau. (Aside.) Ah ! his voice, his face ! 'tis 
not delusion, but he lives and Medora lied ! 

Pol. How % " blest " ! wretch ! 

Dru. Ah ! again I say it ! blessed ! Oh, I 
would, Pollio, both thou, and all who hear me, 
were blessed as I — for mine eyes are opened. 
Not many years have been mine, but long enou', 
thro' mercy, have I liv'd, to find, embrace, the 
holy truth ! Pollio ! I am a Christian ! 

Pol. (To Prafect.) Prithee, my lord, bid 
thy guards bear him to dungeon! (To Ascan- 
ius.) Hence the Maxentii take. 

Dru. {Aside.) What! 

Pol. (Still to Ascanius.) Bear them away ! 
to the same prison ! Not yet decided is their 



76 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

time of death ! [To Drusus.) Two days hence, 
thou diest ! 

(A •woman's shriek is heard in the interior part of the tem- 
ple. The Christians are borne away, the pries-ts chanting as 
they go; when they are lost to sight the people leave.) 



Scene Second. 



[Garden of Maxentius— deserted palace— a retired walk terminating in a clump 
of trees, among which is placed a seat. Time, morn, two days after the 
last scene. Enter Medora; she is very pale, and has a wild look; she 
sinks on the grass, resting her head on the bench, and speaks.] 

Med. Ah ! 'tis all before me now ! The 
crowd of fiends around — he on the ground — 
held, bound down! and the rope pulled, oh ! 
drawn tighter — tighter — till — oh ! that I say it 
and live! all — all was over! and he — his 
wealth of golden hair, trailing on the damp 
earth, his eye-balls starting with agony, lay 
dead ! and I — oh, I could not say " forgive " ! 
Drusus! Drusus! beloved from the first hour 



A TRAGEDY. - 11 

we met, e'en till now, that without thee I can- 
not live ! Didst know the poor Medora tried 
alas ! oh, vainly, to save thy precious life ! 
Dear, he said, oh ! by all, I thought he dared 
not break, he swore that my ruin should be thy 
safety's price ! and thus his word is kept ! Oh, 
these pangs ! Conscience ! no peace thou giv'st 
me ! Ever I hear thee whisper, ;i Paulina 
saved thy life " ! Ha ! she did! she did ! Ly- 
ing gods are ye ! to thy shrines once more I 
turned ! and ye take him from my side ! They, 
who through long years sheltered, and kindly 
bore with my wayward youth, I betrayed, all ! 
the old man, in decrepid age, she, who by un- 
wearied care, won me back to life, and he, son 
and brother, in the prime of young manhood — 
I denounced them all ! and my sin recoils on 
my own head ! Immortals, ye have well done ! 
Drusus ! come back ! back once, once more, to 
hear me say " forgive" ! Ha ! what ! Paulina! off 
irom me take thy dark eyes' mournful gaze ! Oh, 
this fever dries up my blood ! My soul's be- 
loved ! from the Christian's heaven, if thou 
canst hear, forgive ! Here, when first he 



78 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

breathed, " I love thee" ! 'tis meet I too should 
pass away ! Drusus ! thou didst not know I 
loved thee well! Could'st thou have read my 
love, looked into this burning heart, meth'inks 
from me thou would'st not have turned ! Gods 
of hades ! the traitress comes ! Oh ! is not 
this death ! It grows dark ! Drusus ! Drusus ! 

(She dies.) 



Scene Third. 



[A prison-cell — Paulina sleeping on a rude bed ; Maxentius sitting near, read- 
ing a scroll. Time : two days after Drusus' death.] 

Max. {Looking up.) Oh, soothing words ! 
I need to buoy up my fearful heart, by recalling 
that " weight of glory," promised to him who 
shall overcome at the last ! Why is 't, I do not, 
as a long desired friend, welcome, joy, in my 
fast-coming death \ Life, what hast thou now 
for me, that still I shrink from death's cold 



A TRAGEDY. 79 

waves, and yet cling to thee 1 Earth, thy near- 
est ties ail either ruptured or daily fleeting Tore 
my straining gaze. Claudia dead, my first-born, 
alas ! a fugitive I know not where ; parents, 
brothers, sisters, long since called away, and 
she yonder, my pure, my sainted child, not long, 
oh, earth, wilt thou call her thine. Strange 
infatuation! oh, hard and wicked heart! that, 
albeit 'tis so, the disciple should not long to 
enter the home, where the Master 's gone ! 
Love! Faith! inflame this heart! Young 
Drusus, a sinner once — a bright angel now, who, 
saved by Eternal Mercy, laid down this world's 
luxury, the meed thou hast received of an an- 
gelic crown. lie thy example mine ; and oh, 
so far as thou tread'st in our Master's steps, 
thus far may I tread in thine ! 

(Kneels in prayer — after a few minutes, he rises, and leans 
over Paulina.) 

Sleep on, my dear one ! 

(Paulina smiles as if in rapture, stretches out her hands as 
though she would embrace some unseeu object, and awakes.) 

Pau. "Where art Thou ? alas! 'tis gone ! oh, 
most blessed vision ! (Clasps her hands and 
gazes upwards. ) 



80 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Max. ( With nice.) What was 't, my child ? 

Pau. (Rising.) My father, I'll tell thee, 
and oh ! may it cheer thee, as 't has my heart ! 
Methought I was on the spot where He died — 
how there I came, I dream'd not — and, as my 
sad heart brooded o'er the spot — looking down- 
ward, rather, where lay the body mouldering, 
than upwaid, where soaied the enfranchised 
spirit. Methought there floated down to me, a 
rose-hued cloud. Op'ning, within was revealed 
to my tranced gaze, a Form than the fairest, 
moie lovely. A robe of Tyrian dye enfolded 
its sacred limbs. A Holy Hand spread as to 
bless me, of the cruel nail still bore the mark — 
and wond'rous — a tiara of burning thorns en- 
circled that Blessed Head. From those eyes, 
glistening with love, deeper, purer — oh, more 
fond than earth can ever feel, there beamed on 
me a smile — oh ! I feel it yet ! And a Voice, 
that with love-dissolving rapture thrilled e'en 
my very soul, bore to mine ear the words ; 
" Arise ! oh, daughter weary, oh, heavy-laden ! 
Come unto me and rest ! On this breast that 
pierced was, and bled, come and lean thy 



A TRAGEDY. 81 

wearied head ! Safe in my father's home, I pre- 
pare for thee a place, thou, who thro' much tribu- 
lation, art pressing on to Glory ! E'en while 
round me sainted ones gather, in thy bondage 
and sadness I pine ! The breathing of thy 
voiceless prayer, the passion of thy woe, all, 
all to me are known, oh, lonely heart and sad ! 
In the coming hour, when the chill waves of 
the last foe shall gather o'er thy feet, with thee 
and mine aged servant, know I will surely be," 
and all was over ! the vision left my side, I 
woke! Oh, the hour is coming fast! My 
father, is 't not a cheering thought'? In thine 
eye, the lustre gone, thy daily lessening 
strength ; in this frail body's weakness, I read 
soon all will be o'er, and 'mid the glories of 
heaven's day, will be lost the memory of earth's 
twilight ! 

(In the excitement of the moment and her speech, she stands 
up before her father.) 

How is 't, dear father, thou 'rt very pale ! oh ! 
cometh the Messenger for thee ! 

Max. Dearest! [ prithee aid me to lay 
down ! I am faint ! is 't night ? Thy hand ! 
With me 'tis well ! {Lays down.) 



82 ROMAN MARTYRS. 

Pau. My father, thou trustest — 

Max. In One alone — in the Precious Blood 
— 'tis not hard to go ! Fondly — lov'd, farewell ! 
He is with me ! (Dies.) 

Pau. (Closing his eyes ) Rest thou, oh, aged 
victor ! Thou 'it gone in peace ! 

(Enter two jailors.) 

First Jailer. Is all well here I 

Pau. Doubt it not — oh, exceeding well! 

Second Jailor. (Seeing the body.) Now, on 
my faith, I'm glad he 's spared the torture ! 
This must be told ! 

First Jailor. Thou sayest true — let us go ! 
A hateful post is ours ! 

(A knock at the door — Second Jailor goes and returns with 
a filled goblet in his hand, sets it down on the floor and turns 
away.) 

First Jailor. I prithee what is 't ? Speak ! 
Second Jailor. Ask me not ! 
Pau. ( Taking up the goblet.) Joy ! I know ! 
Second Jailor. Stay ! Lady, what doest 
thou \ 

First Jailor. Is 't — 
Second Jailor. Her death ! 



A TRAGEDY. S3 

Pau. Kind heaven, I thank thee ! I thought 
that so it was ! Ilest, thou 'rt nearly come ! a 
moment ! (She kneels in prayer, then rises and 
says :) I pray thee, friend, is this potion slow 
or quick \ 

Secomd Jailor. Madam, I cannot tell! 

Pau. (To them.) Let me take thy hands! 
thanks for kindness ! (Shakes their hands ; 
drinks.) Oh, excellent potion ! In one Death I 
trust ! joy ! joy ! (She falls and dies.) 

(Exeunt weeping, jailors, and curtain falls.) 



Tue Enl>. 



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LBS'14 



